


Almost a Slave

by Glenstorm63



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-09 12:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16450085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glenstorm63/pseuds/Glenstorm63
Summary: An alternate universe The Horse and His Boy: a look at what might have happened if Bree had not spoken up when he did in the book.





	1. Into the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shasta discovers he is not who he thinks he is, manages a close escape from slavery and begins to make a companion of a strange horse.

Chapter 1: Into the Night

Shasta crept away from the small cottage he shared with the fisherman and in the warm darkness mulled over what he had heard.

"Why, I might be anyone!" he thought. "I might be the son of a Tarkaan myself—or the son of the Tisroc (may he live for ever)—or of a god!" 

He was standing out in the grassy place before the cottage while he thought these things. Twilight was coming on apace and a star or two was already out, but the remains of the sunset could still be seen in the west. 

Not far away the stranger's horse, loosely tied to an iron ring in the wall of the donkey's stable, was grazing. Shasta strolled over to it and patted its neck. It eyed him and then swung its head and nuzzled him, snuffling a little, pulling at Shasta's shirt with its lips. Shasta thought it might be about to bite him, so he pulled away. It eyed him again closely, for all the world as if it was going to speak but seemed to think better of it. It went back to tearing up the grass and took no more notice of him. 

Then another thought came into Shasta's mind. 

"I wonder what sort of a man that Tarkaan is," he said out loud. 

"It would be splendid if he was kind. Some of the slaves in a great lord's house have next to nothing to do. They wear lovely clothes and eat meat every day. Perhaps he'd take me to the wars and I'd save his life in a battle and then he'd set me free and adopt me as his son and give me a palace and a chariot and a suit of armour. But then he might be a horrid, cruel man. He might send me to work on the fields in chains. I wish I knew. How can I know? I bet this horse knows, if only he could tell me." 

The horse had lifted its head. Shasta stroked its smooth-as-satin nose and said, "I wish you could talk, old fellow." 

But the horse said nothing, merely gazed at him with dark eyes, nuzzled Shasta's arm again and whuffed a little as it took in the fishy smell from his clothes. But it did make a deep low rumbling noise in its chest that could almost have sounded like some muffled words. Then it went back to grazing the turf, swishing its tail in the warm night air, although every now and then it lifted its head and gazed at him, silently.

Shasta’s mind was so full of turmoil that he hardly noticed. He was consumed with the practicality and the uncertainty of his situation. For he had just learned his father was not his father! He had just learned that he was probably from the north. He had just learned that the Tarkaan thought he was beautiful... but cursed. 

And worse, he had just learned that the man he had always been expected to love and obey was about to sell him like he would sell a net of mullet, to a rich lord… for an undisclosed sum. And he had learned that the world he lived in was a much less certain place than he had ever thought. 

This time he would be a slave in truth, not just in deed. If the muttered, half-spoken words he had heard in the village were true, he could face worse more than a beating if he did not obey his master, or even if he did. It was only now as he thought about things more deeply, he wondered what could be worse than a beating or being placed in chains and made to work all day. Shasta scratched the sandy dirt with his heel and big toe, scuffing a long swathe in the ground in his agitation.

At that moment, the man he had thought was his father came to the door with his lamp and holding it high in the darkness called briefly to Shasta.

Shasta walked over to him, and stood looking up at Arsheesh, more out of habit than affection. Arsheesh was breathing heavily and looked slightly triumphant. 

"So. Now you know. You were listening of course. Little sneak! The Tarkaan has offered me less than I might have wished for but more than I could have hoped. It seems he heard of your presence here and made a special detour to come and see the wares for himself. In return for 5 crescents, he is willing to give you a trial this very night. If you fail to please him, he will leave you behind and give nothing more and I will then have you for the rest of my days or until the next Tarkaan comes looking for your northern flesh and makes me a better offer. But if you do please him, he will give me all that I wanted and you shall go to serve him and his friends, for as long as he chooses. Then I shall be rid of the sight of your pale eyes and sunburned skin and I shall get myself a good wife.”

"Can I come back here if he lets me go or if I escape?" he gasped, grasping at straws in his fright and anxiety.

But Arsheesh grabbed Shasta by the chin and forced the startled and frightened boy to look him full in his face.

"Know this boy. You shall please the Tarkaan. I want my full payment for all the nurture and education I have given you. There will be no coming back for you. In you go". 

Then, taking Shasta by the shoulder and upper arm, Arsheesh's hard hands pushed Shasta into the hut and steered him towards the normally dark alcove which had been given over to the Tarkaan for the night. It was lit by a beautiful lamp which cast patterned shadows across the walls. It must have belonged to the Tarkaan for Shasta had never seen it before.

Arsheesh closed the door behind him. Shasta was frozen. Shasta could not hear him shuffling towards the stable and then the door creaked with his weight. This meant he was standing guard. No doubt Arsheesh would have gone to play at dice in the village with the men if he didn't have a Tarkaan on his hands, wanting to take his wastrel son away with him. Shasta knew this was a once in a lifetime chance for Arsheesh. It would certainly give him the money to attract the wife he had never found, so Shasta had no doubt that Arsheesh would also keep an eye on that horse, and its saddle, as surety against Shasta being stolen away.

Nevertheless he was being left here to the mercies of the Tarkaan anyway. Shasta realised that he felt very hurt and very angry... and very scared.  
…

In the patterned light of the lantern he could see the armour lying to one side. The Tarkaan beckoned to Shasta to come closer, his gaze upon the boy. 

Shasta looked more closely and then looked quickly away, dumbstruck. 

The Tarkaan's tall, lean muscular body was visible, his honey coloured skin glowed in the orange lamplight. Just a lungi covered his nakedness. The curls of the Tarkaan's oiled crimson beard half covered his dark chest with more hair down his belly, disappearing in a trail under the loose cloth.

Shasta swallowed tightly his heart beating hard. He inched as far away as he could and sat on the only furniture in the room, the chest which contained clean robes and turbans for times of festival and blankets for the depths of winter. He stared down at the dirt floor in the dim light, glad there was somewhere else to look, wondering what he was expected to do to please the Tarkaan. He caught the flash of the man's smile from the corner of his eye. 

Shasta continued to stare hard at the floor, a thousand thoughts flooding through his head. Maybe the Tarkaan was truly friendly after-all. Maybe he was going to save him from a life of drudgery. Maybe he could leave the fish behind and eat goat meat, tabbouleh and babaghanoush every day and get fat. Maybe he really would end up in the lap of luxury and get to wear the lovely clothes he had imagined. Robes and turbans and curl toed shoes! Armour even? Or was The Tarkaan just planning on taking him off to his slave barracks to put him to the whip to crush stones and make roads? Maybe he would end his days wearing even less than he wore now. Just a loincloth, or even naked, and be burned red in the hot sun with years of hard labour. Maybe he would face starvation and watch his new owners feast on plentiful food. Oh! He just didn't know. And more to the point, here and now, what did the Tarkaan want from him, right here on Arsheesh's sleeping palette? 

Was he expected to say something… to do something? Was he going to be told to massage the Tarkaan's aching feet? Brush his hair… or his beard? To be asked questions about his suitability for the tasks he would be expected to perform? Rub oil into his back? He just didn't know. And when would the Tarkaan say something? For he knew that if he tried to begin communication, he would risk being beaten, by the Tarkaan, if not killed. No, he was too well trained by Arsheesh to risk that.

For this Tarkaan was of a social order of which Shasta could still only guess by reputation and rumour. He belonged to the caste of people who reportedly could snap their fingers and get you flayed merely for staring at him, or call Tash, the inexorable, the irresistible down from the sky to gobble him up, for daring to yawn in the Tarkaan’s presence. 

Clearly Arsheesh didn't want him anymore. The Tarkaan wanted him. For something.

The Tarkaan showed his teeth, smiling some more and beckoned to Shasta. 

He knew he should offer something, hoping to make the best of the most terrible situation. The Tarkaan seemed to like him. So he smiled shyly, seeming to plead for his approval. It seemed to work. The Tarkaan smiled back broadly and patted the palette next to him encouragingly. 

But Shasta's limbs seemed like lead. They refused to move. His legs seemed to shake and his jaw began juddering. It was almost as if he could feel the wings of Tash beating down on him.

Shasta could never recall afterwards how he got there but, sometime later he found himself lying on the palette next to the Tarkaan with the Tarkaan's warm hand on his shoulder. The lingering scent of patchouli wafted from the Tarkaan’s body, mixed in with the scent of sweat and horse. After a long time nothing bad seemed to happen and he listened to the man's breathing, Shasta began to think that the Tarkaan had gone to sleep. Furtively, he rolled a little and looked over his shoulder into the darkness. But there were the man's dark eyes glinting in the lamplight, studying him. His teeth showed in a smile again and Shasta thought, just for a moment that his eyes seemed kind, until he realized that they also looked determined.

Shasta froze, his heart beating harder than ever. He swallowed convulsively as the Tarkaan's warm hand began to draw lazy broad circles and spirals over his shoulder and after a few minutes onto his chest. The hand brushed Shasta's nipples several times, raising goose-bumps and then continued downwards to massage his belly. The Tarkaan was skilled and Shasta could feel his guts being gently but firmly massaged into a delicious form of relaxation, the Tarkaan's warm hand moving in slow clockwise circles around and around. Eventually he stopped and it seemed the Tarkaan had fallen into sleep again. And it was pleasant lying here, with the unfamiliar scents, and the warmth of the man beside him. It seemed like nothing bad was going to happen. So after the long day of work and the emotional upheaval of the evening, despite all his misgivings, Shasta began to doze. 

It was later, it could have been minutes or hours, Shasta woke to find that the Tarkaan was indeed asleep and that his hand was no longer on Shasta’s stomach, chest or shoulders. Oh no, it was further down, cupping his privates.

Shasta went hot and then cold. What was he to do? This kind of thing had never been in the bargain to his knowledge. What bargain? The bargain struck between Arsheesh and this lord. Then both the full meaning of the Tarkaan's words to Arsheesh and his own naivety came flooding over him... "the boy is fair and white like the accursed but beautiful barbarians who inhabit the remote north." Beautiful.

Shasta now realised with crystal clarity that this man wanted him as his plaything. Tonight he might have been playing him gently and without force. But back in the Tarkaan's palace, anything might happen and probably would. Why else would the lord be prepared to pay so many crescents for him?

His skin crawled and it was as much as he could do to not bat the hand away and run out the door, no doubt to be given chase. So, gathering his courage and fortitude, Shasta lay there for some time longer, listening to the man’s breathing before gently taking the man's hand in his own and lifting it back so that it lay behind him. The Tarkaan stirred and muttered something. So Shasta remained still some more. Listening. Heart beating hard. Gradually the Tarkaan's breathing evened again and Shasta heard a light snore. Shasta sat up, ever so slowly and pulling his loincloth about himself, padded silently out of the sleeping alcove and out the door. 

Outside, with no moon, the stars hung overhead in great drifts, like an immense chandelier, gently lighting up the dewy grass and making the trees glow in this sheltered dell back behind the dunes. The hiss and pound of the surf as always could be heard. The tang of rockrose and the sweet scent of oleander hung in the air. 

But Shasta was in no state to enjoy these familiar sights and smells and sounds.  
He knew what he was going to do, if he could only do it quickly enough.

The Tarkaan's tall horse was still at the iron ring, looking at him. Arsheesh was nowhere to be seen. Then Shasta saw that of course the saddle was not on the horse but locked up in the stable with the donkey and no doubt Arsheesh as well, curled up next to the saddle amongst the straw. When he went silently to the door, he could hear, after a second or two, the familiar noise of the old fisherman's squeaky snore. It was funny to think that if all went well he would never hear it again. But there would be no saddle.

He very nearly ran off by himself then and there, but thinking better of it - maybe there was a chance of stealing a saddle somewhere along the line - he unhitched the horse and leading it by the halter with no encouragement at all, took the Tarkaan's warhorse as silently as he could down the path through the sand-hills to the beach which was lined with tall groves of shadowy tamarisk.

Turning left Shasta could see the skein of bright northern stars twinkling, two Great Stars hanging in their midst. He knew their names. Arneb the Hare and Auva the Barking Dog. Towards these he swung. The great tall horse, despite being a stallion, was showing no signs of resistance and was remarkably biddable. So he led the horse with pricked interested ears, under, into and through the tall tamarisks out of sight of any eyes that may have been following their progress. This was a winding pathway he knew well and it led rapidly downhill to a creek before rising again as it followed the sand-hills northward towards the range of low hills. The horse resisted him at this point. Instead of tamely following Shasta directly across, it turned left and drew Shasta through the shallows of the sandy creek inland. Shasta could not do much else but follow, but after a few hundred yards or so, the horse climbed out of the creek where it became rocky and then gradually angled back to the beach Tamarisks again. But this time the horse and the boy had re-joined the rough track through long grove with no hoof-prints or foot-prints all the way from the creek to their new location about a mile further north. 

Shasta was fit and hardened from years of dragging nets and swimming and within a few minutes, once they had regained the track, he set a steady run that the horse was able to keep up with just through an ambling pace. Shasta paused every now and then keeping his ears open for sounds of pursuit and he began to speak in a soft whisper to the creature. 

"I can't think why you're coming along with me at all,” he panted. “A great big stallion like you. O I do wish I could ride you, but there’s nothing to sit on and no proper reins and no stirrups. And how would I even get up… or stay on?”

The horse whickered again and in a few moments it broke from Shasta’s hold and sidled over to a tree with a stout horizontal branch and stood there rubbing against the branch, tossing his head, breathing loudly and just beginning to make a few noises deep in his chest. He was looking at Shasta.

At that moment, Shasta heard cries and looking back, between the tamarisk trees, could see two bobbing lanterns down on the beach, only half a mile away. 

The horse rumbled and it was then that in the midst of the rumble, Shasta could have sworn he heard it say “Get on, quick, gwip with your legth!”

As you can imagine, Shasta was dumbfounded, but in the midst of this evening of horrors and wonders, it really was the only thing that made any sense. He needed no encouragement. Remembering to swing the reins back over the horse’s head, he scrambled onto the branch, stood up and swung himself onto the horse’s broad back. “Ooof!” he said.  
The stallion didn’t wait for long. As soon as Shasta was sitting fairly upright, he took off at a steady pace. Up the slope, onwards and upwards, still in the shelter of trees, toward the heathery hilltops beyond which Shasta had never been nor seen.

This was really Shasta’s first time on a horse and to him it was alarming in every way imaginable, except that it drew him further away from danger. He held onto the reins too tightly. The horse wriggled its head about to get some give. The rise and fall bruised his backside and roughed his thighs. But the truth be told, the horse had been trained in keeping its rider on its back and it used an unnatural gait which meant that there were always three feet on the ground. If Shasta had been more experienced in horse riding he would have said it was like riding on air. But as there was no saddle to soften things and no stirrups to stand in to relief the pressure and to balance himself, it really was remarkable that Shasta stayed on at all. 

The stallion paced on into the night. On onto the northern hills, miles and miles later, Shasta could dimly see headland after headland and bay after bay winding along the coast to the north, the great huge gleaming sea to the east and forested hills to the west. Then, changing its pace to a walk, it ambled over a rocky outcrop and down through a brake and sidled into a copse of olive and broom. At this point the horse finally stopped. Rumbling with quiet deep sounds that were almost words, it actually knelt down and Shasta was able to tumble off its back and lie down aching in the thick grass, wondering when he was going to get his next drink of water and bite to eat. For with no saddle, there were also no saddlebags.

…

Notes:

Bree had been enslaved for many years and in the book he is represented as being insecure but also snobbish. I represent him somewhat differently. He is no less heroic but he has a less confident and brash personality and a more gentle and respectful approach to his task of helping a human escape. Having lived as a non-talking horse amongst other non-talking horses since a yearling colt, he has lost the art of conversation and has little confidence in talking at all. Hence his great hesitation in articulating anything to Shasta, even when Shasta says he wishes the horse could talk. Indeed in the weeks ahead as they travel northwards together, it will be Shasta who himself has few words, who will draw Bree out and teach him once again how to communicate as a Talking Horse of Narnia can and should.

In The Horse and His Boy, there are two children running away from slavery. Aravis from a clear-cut and well defined child-marriage, Shasta from an unknown quantity which is only hinted at by Lewis. But the Tarkaan’s interest is summed up in the phrase, “beautiful and accursed white barbarians,” which I take to mean that he definitely means no good to Shasta, even without Bree’s words. I am a gay man, and whilst as a teenager man I had some fantasies about older men, I like to think that if I had been in Shasta’s shoes, I would have recognised grooming and abuse if it was beginning to happen, and that I would have done all I could to get away. I think Shasta’s story without the warning of Bree to speed the story up, throws this set of dynamics into high relief. 

Please leave a review.


	2. A New Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shasta and the horse continue their journey, escaping from slavery and begin to develop an understanding with each other.

Chapter 2 – A New Understanding

It was mid-morning when Shasta felt the horse blow in his ear and make some deep expressive whickering noises. Shasta still lay face down in the crushed grass where he had landed feeling half dead.  
The grass was irritating the skin of his cheek and arms and legs. His whole body ached. His inner thighs were half raw and his tender parts felt bruised and battered. There was a stone poking into his side.

Then he remembered all that had occurred yesterday evening in one big rush.

The horse whickered again. Shasta could tell what it was trying to say without it actually using words. "Get up, we need to find water" was plain enough.   
Shasta couldn't have agreed more. He was terribly thirsty and the horse must have been even worse off after all that running last night.

So with every tendon hurting and every muscle protesting, Shasta first forced himself onto all fours. Them, with a grinding effort, he lurched to his bare feet. Clutching at branches, Shasta followed the horse out of the relative safety and shelter of the copse and out onto the slopes of a broken hilly country with limestone bluffs, pines, wild olives, broom, capers, rockrose, thyme and many other shrubs and herbs that Shasta didn't know. 

Once Shasta had roused himself from his stupor, and began stumbling along in his tough bare feet, he found himself wondering about this horse again. Clearly there was a conscious mind in there. It was not running away from Shasta, nor even ignoring him. He was certain the horse was actively watching and supporting him. And right now as far as he could tell, it was carefully and deliberately guiding him downhill, into a deeper fold in the land. 

He remembered the urgent words it had seemed to speak in a deep whinny last night. It was odd. If words they had been, they had almost seemed to come from its chest, not out its mouth. Momentarily he wondered if only Tarkaan's horses were like this, or was speaking a little common to all horses? If so, he had never heard of it.

Skylarks sang far above, crickets cricked and cicadas droned. It was peaceful and quiet and sounds carried easily. If anyone had been keeping watch, it would have been possible but not easy to mark the dappled dark grey horse and the boy, winding and climbing their way through the thickets and around boulders, down to lower ground. And if the Tarkaan had sent out a search party, no doubt they would have been tracking the horse and could even be on their trail not far behind. He looked nervously over his shoulder and then stubbed his toe. Ouch! He muffled his cry.

It surely would be too much to expect that the horse had been assumed to have merely headed South back to Anradin's home without Shasta and that Shasta had run off in some random direction. It must be obvious that they had gone together. And Shasta knew that if he was caught he was as good as dead. He shivered with fear in the warmth of the day.

At last, the horse led him down shelves of rock and broken screes into a kind of gorge. There, at the bottom was a series of long still pools trickling over rocks a foot or so down from one pool to the next. The banks were thick with grasses. Ancient olives strained their limbs far over the water from each side. Limestone crags far above were festooned with stunted trees and trailing creepers. There were even a few spikes of yellow orchid and purple fritillary amongst the grasses. It was delightful and far more hidden than the copse they had bivouaced in. It was a good place to hide out.

Being such a hot day and so thirsty, Shasta removed his loincloth and shirt and plunging into the cool water, began a slow gentle dog-paddle, drinking his fill from the surface as he progressed up the pool. It was refreshing and so different from the sea water he usually swam in. He heard a huge rush of water and saw the horse doing much the same in the next pool down, although the water only came up to its chest.

Then Shasta felt around on his body in the cool water, searching for any break in his skin, noticing the sorest parts and kneading them gently. At the very least, he thought, a thick cotton blanket to drape over the horse instead of a saddle would help. But where that might come from was not to be guessed.  
After he got out, and stood in the sun to dry, he realised how hungry he was. 

The horse was cropping grass but Shasta had nothing. He wondered for a moment but having been brought up to improvise and get food from seaside rock pools and make do, he didn't have to wonder for long. So he looked about and noticed shrubs with tiny pink berries with a thin layer of flesh which proved to be sweet. But they were a little resinous, so out of caution ate only a few. And he was also a fisherman, so it came naturally to him to find a way to land something from this freshwater stream up in the hills. Shasta looked about and turned up some stones close to the edge of the pool he had swum in. Under one he found several creamy yellow flatworms which might be used as bait later if he could find something suitable for a hook and line. He left them behind for safe keeping, and there would be more of them. Under another was a small freshwater crayfish. That was better. So grabbing it deftly behind the claws so it couldn't nip his fingers, he broke off the tail and stripped its segments to reveal its plump white translucent flesh. He removed the claws to get the meat from those too. He ate it all raw and continued along the banks, turning rocks and carefully replacing them. In all, he managed about eleven crayfish with only a few nips, and having disposed of them one by one and eaten their meat, he felt much better.

He also found a bed of watercress two pools up and munched on a couple of handfuls of the hot leaves and stems, his eyes watering and throat and sinuses protesting. But after he had swallowed it all down and drunk some more water, he really felt ready for anything. Was it time to be moving on? But to where?

He looked around for the horse. It was still eating grass on the edge of a nearby thicket across the stream from Shasta but had slowed somewhat. It was at this moment rubbing itself against a tree trunk and branches, no doubt to help relieve some itch. Shasta approached and just stood looking at it. It was a lightly built horse, but strongly muscled, with a short back and an arched neck. It was dark grey with a beautiful mottled light grey pattern all over. By far the most handsome horse he had ever spied, let alone got close to. If Shasta had only known it, he was looking at one of the most famous coursers that had led the charge in the battle of Zalindreh, which had cowed an entirely new province to the might of Calormen and now was in tribute. It had been decorated in honour of its valour.

But the words it had spoken the night before and the close company it was keeping with Shasta could not be denied.

There was nothing else for it, so Shasta said "Mister horse, you spoke to me last night, didn't you", making it more of a statement than a question. "You told me to get on your back". 

The horse stopped its rubbing and rolled its eyes, turning away. It just stood there, looking the other way, and hung its head. For all the world like the donkey when it was being stubborn and feeling sorry.

Being cautious, for it was still a great big powerful stallion that could hurt him if it chose, for all its care and attention, Shasta sat down on a rock a few yards away.

He had the feeling it was waiting for him to speak again. So he said "I didn't know horses could talk. I've never really met one properly before you see."

The horse huffed. Then silence. His tail hung long and motionless despite the odd fly. The horse turned around a little and looked at Shasta and then whickered. Again the sounds were almost words but nothing intelligible. The horse extended his neck and shook his head violently for a moment. Then with what seemed enormous effort, it said "Motht can't". Then it hung its head again, before whickering "Too noithy. They would have heard me latht night if I thpoke. Can't whithper like you humanth."

Again, the effort was great and the horse huffed and whiffled again and chumbled around the bit before adding, "Glad you made your ethcape from the cottath when you did. Doubt we'd have had a chanth otherwithe."

Shasta knew that was the truth. He would never have got this far on foot. And he noticed it had said “we”.

Shasta mind was boggling and he was now full of questions, but he could see the effort it took for the horse to speak. And he noticed the horse chewing uncomfortably. 

"Mister horse. Would it help if we got that thing out of your mouth?”  
“The bith? “Oh, yeth!” said the horse. “Of courth! Ith been there tho long I almoth forgoth. Makth eating gwath thutcth a bother. And worns a gwoove in my teef. Juth take off the whole bwidle pleafffplrr. But you’ll need to put i’ back on when we leave tho you have thumthing to hold on thoo.”  
Shasta of course was very careful, but not knowing quite what he was doing, he scraped the horse’s ears and nose getting it off.  
“Oh wouldn’t I just llllove to give you a good bite!” said the horse clearly at last, once the bridle was on the ground. “Still you’re learrrrning. You’rrrrre just a colt. Have to make allowances. Much better now.”   
Shasta found himself getting shy now the horse was speaking more clearly. But he plucked up courage and said, “I really don't know how to say this, but I hope you might be able to answer some of my questions by and by. There is so much I want to know. Can I let you know what is on my mind now?"

"Brrrhhhhh!" snorted the horse, "Mmmm, maybe. No prrrrrromises though. And come nightfall we have to get moving, so best have another sleep fairrrrly soon. Just saying.”   
The horse shook its head a few more times and flummoxed and gurgled and whiffled and coughed and breathed heavily in and out and gradually worked on getting a clearer voice back.

And shortly after Shasta got settled on the grass and the rocks, to Shasta’s lasting honour and delight, the horse knelt down and lay its head on the hummock next to Shasta, looked him in the eye and said “Thank you. Thank you ever so much. I really am truly grateful. I have not had anyone to talk to in ever so long.”

Then over the next few hours, Shasta and told the horse all about his life, how Arsheesh had raised him and what little he had been told about his own past.

And despite his need to talk himself, the horse was an excellent listener and made all the right noises of sympathy and horror at different moments. Shasta felt like he had found a true friend for the first time in his life. The horse even nuzzled him gently a few times and Shasta found this very comforting indeed. Shasta had always found himself the outsider amongst the local boys and Arsheesh had worked him hard mending nets in any of his spare time, so the truth be told, this was really the first time he had ever had a confidante.

As the sun moved into mid-afternoon, he asked how the horse had learned to speak, why he was having trouble speaking now, where he thought they might head to and whether he thought Shasta had made the right choice for himself. And what his name was.

The name was far too long and difficult to grasp and Shasta was not really sure whether it was even a clear word or one of the horse's confused half-speaking efforts. So Shasta settled on Bree and the horse was happy enough with it.   
Bree filled in the gaps piece by piece from his own tale. His speech was halting and he only spoke words as they came to him. Clearly he was no chatterbox. So Shasta gathered a slightly garbled picture but it was terribly interesting to be listening to a horse tell tales, so he kept his patience.   
“Where I come from, nearly all the animals talk.” 

“Where is that?” asked Shasta. 

“Narnia,” answered the Horse. “It’s a happy land. Heathery mountains. Thymy downs. One great river flows through the middle of an enormous valley. And many rivers flow into that from both sides. And cataracts and mossy caverns with fauns and dryads dancing to pipes in the glens and the deep forests ringing with the hammers of the Dwarfs. And talking beasts everywhere. Oh the sweet grass of Narnia! And the sweet air!” He sniffed dolefully.

Shasta sniffed the air too. But as far as he could tell, this was delicious here and now. He looked at Bree doubtfully. Bree saw it.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong! Calormen is astoundingly beautiful, dramatic, varied – and huge – and I’ve had many adventures. I’ve seen battles and cavalry, savannah, jungle, plantations, desert, flooding rivers… herds of antelope as far as the eye can see. And lions. But enough about them. And places of peace and tranquillity like this. But I was always acting as a dumb witless horse! And I’ve seen and heard things in Tehish, Calavar, Zalindreh, Varadesh, Mezreel and Tashbaan that would make your hair stand on end. I’d give up ten years of my life here for just an hour there as a free Narnian.” It ended with a whinny that sounded very like a sigh and he shook his head and neck and a deep shiver seemed to go through the horse. Shasta could see he was telling the absolute truth as he knew it… and felt.

“But how did you get here?” said Shasta. 

“Kidnapped," said the Horse. “Stolen, captured – whatever you like to call it. I was only a foal at the time. A headstrong yearling colt! My mother warned me not to range the southern slopes into Archenland, especially into its west. She knew the place well… and what money and opportunity some unsavoury human traders, both Archen and Calormene might see in me and my conformations. She’s met them herself when she was young. But did I heed her? We never pay the slightest attention to our mothers once we’re weaned. I have paid for my folly! I’ll probably never see her again.”

“So these countries? Narnia and Archenland? They sound funny. Where are they? I've never heard of them.” Shasta had often wished he’d had a chance to go to school and learn things, even for just a few years, but he’d been kept busy with the fishing nets. 

“Not surprised,” said the horse. “There's more than enough going on in these south parts of Calormen, that you haven't heard even a rumour. They are very far to the north. That’s why we are heading that way. And there is a long way to go. Weeks I expect.”

The horse paused and then after a little bit he gave a horsey cough and said, “Now about my history. You want to hear more of it?” 

Shasta nodded. 

“Good. Alright, well, a few years before I was born, it was entirely winter in Narnia. Ice and snow everywhere for a hundred years. An evil enchantress ruled the place. My mother had grown up in Archenland with her parents and grandparents and great grandparents. It wasn’t eternal winter there. Their ancestors had gone there to escape the Great Cold. My father and his family had been in the Western Wild for generations for the same reason. But once the hundred years of winter went, and the Kings and Queens were installed, they all came back down to Narnia and that's where they met and where I was foaled. It was the beginning of the golden age and as far as I know it is still going. But here I have been, enslaved to fight the Tisroc's wars whilst Narnia goes on in bliss.”

Bree closed his eyes and gave a great horse sized sigh. If he had not been a horse, Shasta would not have been surprised to see tears running down his horsey cheeks. But as horses have no tear ducts, there were no tears, but Bree’s voice had definitely become shakey.

Shasta stared at him, and putting his hand on Bree’s nose and jaw, began to stroke him gently, hoping he was doing the right thing.

After a little, Bree continued, “All these years I have been a slave to humans, hiding my nature and pretending to be dumb and witless. And I’ve learned that dumb horses aren’t as witless as I thought. Some of my best friends have been dumb. But I couldn’t range with them; they were as captive as I have been. They’ve gone their separate ways. And it would never have done to have families with some of the dumb mares I’ve known. Not that my masters didn’t try.” He gave a horse cough and shook his mane, disturbing Shasta’s attempts to comfort him. 

“Why didn't you tell the people who you were?” 

“Not such a fool. They would have made a show of me at fairs and guarded me more carefully than ever. Poked me with sticks to make me talk. Can you imagine! My last chance of escape would have been gone.” 

"So Bree, what are people mostly like in Narnia and Archenland? I don’t want to end up somewhere that’s worse.”   
To that question the horse did not have a glib answer. But he turned and looked at Shasta from several angles and then turned and looked into the mid distance, thinking.  
Eventually he said quietly, "You know I'm not completely sure what they're like. The Archens who captured me and sold me to Calormene horse traders knew I was a Talking Horse so they were as bad as you can get. But most humans in Archenland are good respectful people as far as I know. They had a good king and queen. But there weren’t many humans in Narnia apart from its rulers and a few old returning families, even though Archenland had plenty. So, when I really look at you, I can say you look a lot like them. Well, you don't have a beard yet. But a lot of them have got hay coloured hair just like you. I think you are from there."

To that, Shasta's heart gave a jolt. He had never seen other people who looked like himself. And it was something he realised he rather yearned for.   
“So why have I never seen any of them before?” he asked. “I’ve seen soldiers passing through, heading south and not one has looked like me. Why aren’t they fighting for the Tisroc?"

“Because, they are free countries. They aren't a part of the Tisroc's country at all, so they don’t fight his wars. They have their own rulers.” 

That was news to Shasta. A new concept in fact. He had only ever heard the names of three of its provinces including his own, Varadesh. And the only villages and towns he had heard of were his own closest village Yadreh, the largest town in Varadesh, Saahel Sabaan and the waymeet at the junction of three provinces called Azim Balda. As for Tashbaan, home of the great temple of Tash and the Tisroc himself, it was purely mythological to Shasta. Even the fact that the greater land he lived in had a name - Calormen - that it had borders and that other countries lay outside them had never occurred to him.

Suddenly his life and future seemed full of possibilities beyond imagining. 

"And why——" began Shasta, but the Horse interrupted him.   
"Now look," it said, "we mustn't waste time on idle questions. We need to continue our journey later and we still need another sleep before we leave here. But you wanted to know about my master the Tarkaan Anradin? Well, he's bad. Not too bad to me, for a war horse costs too much to be treated badly. But my Tarkaan was on his way north to the great city, to Tashbaan itself and he was planning to take you there, on my back, to the court of the Tisroc. They like white slaves there, if they can get them. Preferably unspoiled. He would have dressed you up in fine clothes and taught you to dance and to... to... well to do some other things. Then he’d have invited the Crown Prince if he could persuade him and all those closest to him over to his Tashbaan townhouse for a kind of… feast. Oh no, you'd better be lying dead to-night than go to be a human slave in Anradin’s hands to-morrow.

Shasta, turned very pale. “I’ve made a lucky escape then,” was all he managed in a quiet hollow voice, looking at the ground, feeling sick.

"Yes, you have," said the Horse. "But its not over yet. They may be on our trail. There’s a straw headed white boy on the loose (well red really from what I’ve seen) who’s stolen Tarkaan Anradin’s prized courser (that’s me) and riding bareback! There’ll be a price on your head within a few days if there isn’t one already. You need to keep running away with me and I with you.”

Shasta shivered with fright realising this could be all too true. But he looked at Bree gratefully. He knew he’d never have got this far without this wonderful caring horse.

“Look, this is the chance for both of us,” Bree added. “If I run away with no rider, everyone will be after me. But with a rider, I have a chance, even you a young white boy. And we have to find some kind of saddle soon. I can tell you’re getting sore. It will get better it’s true, for I’ve been ridden bareback many times, but a new rider like you, you need a saddle. Then we can really gallop far far away. The one left back in your donkey’s stable with the old man snoring on it? That was the finest saddle I’ve ever worn. And as comfortable as they get. But hey ho, if you can’t leave something behind in a pinch you’re lost.” 

“Even if we can get a blanket that will be better than nothing.”

...

Just before sunset, with pink and purple streamers in the sky, Shasta and Bree set out. Bree set the path and a gentle pace, following the gorge upwards in a north westerly direction, trailed by Shasta. Eventually they reached a place where the banks opened out a little on the northern side and they were able to climb out and see ahead. Under the last light of dusk and a few glimmering stars, ahead they could see miles and miles of pathless half-wooded country that rolled on and on, up and down, towards the north. They could see no lights. It was here that Shasta had to brave Bree's back again - climbing on using the branches of a stunted chestnut. Once Shasta was mounted, Bree began to sidle about and paw the ground with impatience. It was then that Bree rumbled and dared to let out suppressed neigh from the height. "Narnia and the North!", was what Shasta managed to discern.  
“Grip with your knees and keep your eyes straight ahead between my ears. Don't look at the ground. If you think you're going to fall just grip harder and sit up straighter. Ready? Now: for Narnia and the North!” he rumbled.

With that, Bree gathered himself and sprang away, pacing ahead with purpose and precision whilst there was still some light. He wove around clumps of trees, deliberately trod over rocky ground and hard dirt to leave few hoof-prints. He avoided holes successfully and for the next hour managed to put several miles between them and the gorge they had spent the day.

Once all daylight had passed into the west and the great stars were shining to guide their path, Bree slowed to a steady walk and Shasta just had to maintain his balance enough and not go to sleep. Even so, he still fell off twice, but Bree was very patient and very kind. He seemed to know what it must be like, being in strange company in a strange land and unsure what to do. So it was in this way, with Bree's steadfast assistance, that Shasta found himself far from home, without too many bumps and knocks. They stopped and drank from meandering streams here and there before climbing tall hills amongst chestnut, olive, pine, acacia and patches of open grassland. Several times they disturbed bivouacked grazing animals. Once it was once a mob of gazelles, once a family of grey fallow deer, larger than you would see in any deer park and even a tall sable antelope, which loomed in the darkness, before glaring and snorting at them, tossing his great horns. But Bree stayed silent and skirted their territories respectfully and they managed to stay out of trouble until morning.

Two hours before dawn, again they stopped just below a hilltop and again hid in a thicket. Again, Shasta flopped onto the ground gathering some dry grass into a bit of a bundle, curled up and fell into a deep sleep. Bree just stayed standing, one eye open, his withers occasionally flickering.  
…

Notes:   
Even when I read The Horse and His Boy at age 9, I was gobsmacked that Lewis would patronise his readers with the argument that Anradin would assume his horse would just head south for home if it was let loose and that there would be no connection made between the departure of the horse and the departure of the boy at the same time. It was so obvious that if the boy and horse disappeared together that the boy had ridden away on the horse; it was insulting. So whilst I loved then and still love Lewis’s crisp visions and pace (and I have borrowed heavily from his narrative n this chapter), I have just shifted the conversation. I want to bring a bit of realism and grit into the story. 

As for the purposes of Anradin, we have some clear facts.  
Fact 1: He came from further South than where Shasta grew up and he was on the way to Tashbaan at the time he entered the story.   
Fact 2: He was picking up a slave on the way to Tashbaan.   
Fact 3: Shasta and Bree took several weeks to get to Tashbaan on back roads and cross country from his home. Tashbaan is therefore at least ten day’s journey on the high roads. Anradin therefore must have a very good reason to be taking a slave on his horse all that way to Tashbaan.   
Fact 4: Anradin was an ally of Rabadash. After he got to Tashbaan (without the slave) he joined Rabadash in the attack on Anvard. 

We can make some assumptions from this:  
Assumption 1: Anradin wanted to take Shasta to Tashbaan for some specific purpose; either to use for his own pleasure; to sell at a profit; or to curry favour with someone of greater power and consequence (Rabadash) or for an even more specific purpose.   
Assumption 2: As Anradin was travelling to Tashbaan at the time that Rabadash was getting involved with Susan, and he later supported Rabadash at Anvard, we can assume that Anradin was aware of Rabadash’s plans for Susan and was supporting Rabadash in his plans.   
Assumption 3: Either Anradin guessed very well who Shasta was after hearing rumour of him and thus came to collect him; or he knew, having been aware of or even a part of the Lord Bar plot against Archenland 10 or 12 years before. Shasta may even have been monitored discretely until he came of age or the right time came. 

And if I put these assumptions together, I can come to a conclusion:  
Anradin was acting as courier. He was specifically acquiring Shasta for use as a bargaining chip in negotiating with the northern countries should Susan refuse Rabadash’s hand or to provide even more political leverage once she had been subdued. Once a Ruling Queen of Narnia and the Crown Prince of Archenland had been captured, and declared, it would have given Calormen a lot of clout with both countries.   
Which leads me to wonder at Lune for allowing his only other remaining son to go to Tashbaan at all, given the history that Calormen had had with stealing the elder son away. 

Lewis meant what he wrote but he was writing for children. I am an adult writing Narnia to an adult audience and I am extremely careful to be making no explicit references, but I must put two and two together so it makes sense for adult readers. Escape from child abuse and sexual slavery is what The Horse and His Boy is about: Shasta, Aravis and Susan, all. Lasaraleen is caught in it already. She is just making the best of it as she can, being a highborn young woman and she knows no better.

Raw Crayfish: Any child brought up catching fish for a living will know that raw fish and shellfish is one of the world’s great delights. Sashimi has been known the world over long before Japanese cuisine became internationalised. And what are oysters au naturel and raw prawns if not a form of sashimi? I grew up across the road from a Silesian German man who had a farm dam with plenty of yabbies (Australian freshwater crayfish). We would happily catch them for sport and then present them to him and watch horrified as he used the broom handle to break them in two on the concrete and then wash and eat the tail meat whilst the remains of the poor creature crawled around. I figure that a boy brought up on the coast as a subsistence forager will have little squeamishness about such things and will just know a good feed when he sees one.


End file.
